Is this what he meant?
by The Ashen Leaf
Summary: Barnabas Collins thinks of Freddie Mercury and Queen as he does is annual drinking. Slight songfic. Warning- Blood and gore. Not terribly violent, but it's Barnabas Collins violent.


A/N. I'm sorry. T_T I feel awful now for starting one of a chain of stories and not updating "He Needs a Father" and "Bloody Lovely Nights", but I'm currently working on the next chapter for both! So that's good, right? Anyway, this is sort of a songfic based on Queen's "Another One Bites the Dust". I might have the time periods mixed up, but, meh.  
_

I sat in my typical spot at the head of the table, looking at my distant family at the other end. Master David was vigourously downing his waffle, occasionally gulping down a swig of milk. His father sat next to him, nonchalantly reading his daily newspaper and sipping the coffee that was in the cup in his hand. Elizabeth was quickly eating her breakfast, consisting of eggs and toast, dressed in black attire, preparing to head off to her job. Doctor Hoffman sat in her usual position, legs crossed, and a cigarette between her fingers.

And Carolyn... Well, the girl was standing a few meters to my left, bobbing her head to a song that played on the radio, while her nose was buried in a magazine. The title read "Rolling Stone", and underneath it was a short haired man with black hair and a black mustache, and his title was "Queen's Freddie Mercury". Hm, curious. I didn't know a man could be a queen, much less his surname be that of the infernal silvery metal in a hat makers glue that made all those men so mad.

"Another one bites the dust!... Another one bites the dust!" I heard the radio speak. It was a man's voice, no doubt. I'm curious to know as to what that phrase meant, although I had a fairly reasonable theory.

The morning moved on normally, Willy was preparing another pitcher of orange juice while Elizabeth made her way out of Collinwood and off to her profession. Soon enough, David finally finished his breakfast and belched, hopped off his chair and moved away from the dining room. Rodger folded up his newspaper and put it under his arm, and left the room as well. The doctor did the same thing after she extinguised her cigarette. Now, it was just me and Carolyn.

Moments passed slowly, I stood as still as a statue, thinking about everything, and Carolyn closed her magazine and looked up at me, a sneer on her face. I turned my head to look at her, and the song changed. It was indistinguishably the same man who told about biting dust particles, but now he was speaking of riding his bicycle.

"Carolyn, who is that... Queen-man on your magazine?" I asked curiously. She looked at me, then at the cover, and then at me.

"Queen is a band, stupid. And he's lead singer of it, stupid," she said, tapping her finger on the cover. I nodded, and she left the room after turning the nob on the radio and it turned off.

Sighing, I felt my throat begin to burn and my mouth start to salivate. That time of the week, and I must find something-no, someone, to drink. I pushed back against the table, the chair making a rather annoying squeaky noise across the wooden floor, and rushed out of my beloved Collinwood, my hand gripped tight around the ivory of my walking stick, and headed out into the forest, hoping to find some unfortunate worker, aimlessly working.

As I walked, I could only think of how much of a monster I am. How much I hate taking innocent lives just to keep up my own strength. Soon, I heard the distinguishable sounds of hammers and other tools pounding against who knows what. The inside of my mouth salivated some more, and I resisted the urge to drool.

I stood next to a tree after approaching the men, they completely unaware of my presence. There were 4 of them, two rather handsome men, cleanly shaved, and two a bit larger, perspiration dripping off of their chins as they worked, and were stubbly around their cheeks. Silently, I tread forward. Soon enough, one of the more fit men looked up and saw me, his eyes widening.

"Who-Who are you?" he asked, his voice shaken. Quickly, I ran up to him, clipping his shoulder with the ivory end of my walking stick and pulled him to me.

"I'm terribly sorry," I said sincerely and bit into his neck. The sweet, tangy and sticky blood pooled into my mouth, beginning to satisfy the burning of my throat. He thrashed a bit, but soon went limp, and his body fell to the ground. At this point, the other men were screaming and yelling and running for their lives. I moved to the closest, one of the more heavier men, and did the same, stopping him in his tracks witht the end of my walking stick, and bit into his neck after my apology. Of course, I didn't let the others escape as I did so. Soon, the other two were helpless under my grip as I bit into their necks.

I looked at the massacre I just caused, the men laying dead at my feet, and sighed, a bit of blood sliding down my lips and dripping off my chin. I quickly wiped it away with the back of my hand as a sudden thought hit me...

Is this what the man meant about biting dust?


End file.
